


You have witchcraft in your lips

by kid_n_the_hall



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, some sort of reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8436928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kid_n_the_hall/pseuds/kid_n_the_hall
Summary: Ah, yes, I sort of jumped the gun, and claimed this quote from Henry V that Deedeeinj reblogged on Tumblr. And this little rambly doodle came from that gun jumping.  Hope I didn't completely mangle what you had in mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts).



The rapid sequence of knocks on his door wakes him from his snooze. The book still in his hands, unfinished whisky on the little table on his right. The fire's almost out. He should tend to that. Another sharp knock. Right. Door. He tries to rub some sleep from his eyes, rakes his hands through his hair and aims for the door. It's nearly dark out now. He stumbles. Almost at the door he hears faint scratches and scraping sounds. It makes his scalp buzz and a sense of _her_ trickles from deep inside down his spine. He shudders. As he lays his hand on the doorknob the lock clicks.

Unlocked.

And there she is. A phantom on his front porch. She just looks at him.

*

The sight of him knocks the air from her lungs and any words that were ready to tumble out dissipates. He's holding on to his door for all his might. Looking at her like she's a speeding truck and he's a deer. When frankly, she feels every bit as a frightened deer herself. Neither speaks. The air is crackling. She starts to think they'll just stand here in this compressing silence until they wither and annihilates.

”Is everything in order, Inspector Robinson?” The shrill voice of Mrs Harris next door bursts their bubble.

*

He tries to answer. In order? No. Completely distorted.

”Hrm...yes, everything's as it should be, thank you Mrs Harris.” He offers a stiff grimace, hoping it will pass as a smile of sorts. At least she nods, but frowns as she walks back into her own house.

He steps back, tilts his head and urges Phryne in with swiftly raised eyebrows. She bows her head and walks in. His head's spinning. When he dreamt of a reunion if it would be one, it was not like this. His heart thumps. He desperately wants to touch her but can't. If she's an illusion a touch would shatter it.

”Hello Jack.” She finally manages.

The jittery tone in her voice gives him some leverage to speak.

”Not taking on the world, Miss Fisher?”

”I had something else to conquer before that.” She fidgets with her lockpick. Pins him down with a glare.

”And what would that be?” One of these days those eyes will lead him to his ruin. And he will be content to follow.

He sees her swallow down some words, he clenches his jaw. Waits.

”Love.” her voice cracks.

*

Oh god, why did she act on impulse and just rush here first thing to expose this pile of _feelings_. She can't see his eyes or that furrow or that cupids bow another second so she turns on her heels. Mind's still blank. And there's a shuffle and a hand on her shoulder turning her back. A hand glides down her back and huddles her to him, or if she just gravitates towards him, she doesn't know. And his breath is warm against her lips and then their mouths just molds together and her heart and brain kicks into gear again. Breathing, breathing's probably well advised. They break apart and his forehead is warm against hers, the puffs of air from his nose tickles her cheek, there's whisky on his breath.

”Are you not afraid you'll scandalize Mrs Harris by inviting a fallen woman into your home on a monday night?”

”Nice customs curtsy to great queens.” Uttered with a coy smile, and she feels calmer. And certain. Of this. Him. Them.

”Kiss me.”

”Willingly and yielding, Miss Fisher”.

”Is he not apt?” she says with a pleased laughter that he's quick to silence. Lips nipping at lips, cautious kisses slowly evolving into demands. It's glorious and time warping.

Suddenly he stops, gently cups her face with his rough hands, tries to keep his eyes on hers but they keep darting to her lips.

”You came back?”

”How could I not? You have witchcraft in your lips, Jack”

There's a little relieved chuckle and she needs to kiss him again.

And again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The quotes are from Henry V, act 5, scene 2. Though I've transposed them a bit.


End file.
